This is the true story, considerably improved for readability of course.

He had taken exactly 111 photographs of the Harvest Moon, less than a dozen of whichmerited viewing even by those disinclined to waste quality time in upscale art museums. Of this exact dozen only two were deemed outstanding by soft-spoken art critics with impeccable credentials, but not by the photographer, who never allowed himself to be satisfied with anything he did.

None of that matters in the least.

In his ceaseless and losing quest for perfection the man had mimicked an ink blotter, sort of, and blotted up enough raw moonlight upstairs that his every other dream became entirely moon-soaked.

If you think that’s another tall one, the image shown here proves you wrong.